


The Mission.

by Foxbear



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Brothers, Clones, Death, Defender of the Universe, Explosions, F/M, Family, Galaxy Garrison, Gen, Kuron, Other, Possible AU, Violence, Voltron, headcannon, kuro - Freeform, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxbear/pseuds/Foxbear
Summary: Shiro practically raised Keith.There was a reason.Keith instinctively trusted Shrio from the moment they met.There was a reason.Shiro doesn't know the reasons, but Kuron does.





	The Mission.

Galra Officer’s Meeting: 

“Given how stretched our resources are we cannot afford at this time to send another scout group to such a dangerous area that has proven to be a dead end. I have a suggestion. Operation Kuron is proceeding with such success that I think we can spare one product. We gathered the sample from a returned scout and infiltrating the local military with one of their own might prove more efficient.”

***

Earth

“Dad, the knife needs charging,” Keith called hopefully, poking his head around the bedroom door. 

His eyes sparkled with hope and mischief. 

“Well that’s a new one,” his dad called back from where he was bent over a partly disassembled engine block on the living room floor. “But bedtime’s still at eight-thirty sharp. Get back to bed Squirt.”

“But I can plug it in!” Keith insisted.

“You can’t plug in a knife Squirt,” his dad replied. “Now go to bed.”

“But it’s flashing,” Keith whined, but from the tone he had indeed given up for the night, or was at least recalculating his tactics. 

His father smiled over his work for all of two heartbeats until what his son had said hit him in the gut like a lead weight. He staggered to his feet, spilling a lid of bolts across the floor, and sprinted to his son’s room. Keith was just crawling into bed and looked up hopefully when his father entered. The flashing purple light from the blade shone out of his open dresser drawer and reflected in the child’s eyes. His father gripped the knife and his breath fled from his lungs. 

“It is flashing,” Keith said just a touch smugly. 

His father took a deep breath and when his spoke again his voice was tight with emotion. 

“Go to sleep Keith.” 

* * * 

Vrepit sa.

He woke to the keen awareness that the mission started now. The words faded from his mind leaving only the taste of pride and acceptance in his mind. For a long moment the blue world, X5721, shone in his vision before erupting in the fire of reentry. His hands firmly grasped the controls as he guided the craft down towards the coordinates. The last known coordinates of the previous failed mission. Emotions flared within his mind, elation at the sensation of flying, fear of not knowing the fate of the previous soldiers, but these he paid as little attention as the flames that licked at the outer hull. They were a part of reality but had no bearing on the mission. The mission was all. Pride hummed in him as he landed the ship undetected and deactivated the engine. 

Suddenly a sense of rightness swept over him with such force that it startled him. He felt his mind flail. Gravity. He had just shifted from the onboard ships gravity to the planet’s gravity. Why did it feel so right? He let the question fade as he adjusted his mask and tightened the straps of his harness over his shoulders. He opened the hatch and leapt out. The sense of rightness surged again as his lungs drank in the fragrant, dry air of the blue world. Desert. The desert surrounded him. 

His eyes began tracking, looking for something. He paused a moment to wonder what he was looking for, then his eyes found it. There, almost obliterated by the shifting soil of this world was the scorch mark from an explosion. He began circling, looking for more evidence of battle. Once he made the mistake of looking up. 

Instantly he was overwhelmed by that same sense of rightness, this time bleeding through with deep longing. His mind flailed again, gasping for some explanations of the symptoms. 

The mission. He would complete the mission. He was here, working on the mission. When that was over his secondary mission was to return with information to- He struggled to finish the thought for a moment and then shook his head. It didn’t matter. He would finish his mission and then return. What had happened to the previous soldiers they sent? Who were they? He felt that the answer was on his tongue, that he knew at least their names. But the mission called all of his attention. He continued searching.

He found the shattered remains of their ships next. At least he found two of them. Shoved into a ravine and covered with the native debris. The soil was still scarred with the tracks of whatever primitive machine had been used for the task. Native plant growth twined thick roots and vines over and around the wreckage. Further digging found scraps of an older vessel. All had clearly been damaged in battle with what appeared to be Galra weaponry. At some little distance from the wreckage he found three graves. A rock above their heads was scored with the words. They were soldiers, and they died fighting. Something, perhaps approval, maybe sadness, stirred in his chest at that. 

Again he ignored the emotions. He spent nearly a day examining the crash site. It looked like both missions had been destroyed by a mixture of Galra weaponry and native. Infighting and then interference just as the one report they had suggested. He frowned, as anger surged. That was wrong. Native aggression was one thing. Galra soldiers should not kill each other. 

He returned to his craft and compiled his observations. As the words to form the report flowed through his mind he felt oddly clumsy, as if his mind were stumbling over the terms that he knew so well. He left the hatch open to let the deliciously warm air flow in while he worked. The cause of the previous mission failure now confirmed, his primary mission was complete. For a long moment after he sent the data packet he felt a sense of disorientation. His mission was complete. What else was there? 

Next mission objective: infiltrate planetary defense program.

A shudder ran through his body as his mind whirled around the new objectives that flooded it. His breathing grew ragged as he realized how, empty, the objectives were. The disorientation returned with fear. But the mission was still there. Infiltrate the planetary defense program. He drew a deep breath and let his eyes wander over his craft. He should access the local data net. He needed to scan for active communication signals. The first passive scan nearly crashed the craft’s processor. There was so much data free in the airwaves. He frowned. This was careless of them. Perhaps he could warn them of the danger to insinuate himself. He began probing for data nodes and by the time he had found a reference to a local government he was deeply focused on the task. He was so focused he didn’t notice the soft scrape of something attaching to the hull of his craft. He didn’t hear the soft tread as someone entered through the hatch he had left open. He did feel the weapon press against the back of his head. 

His fist swung around and impacted hard against the skull of his crafty attacker. The other might have been saying something but the soldiers reactions were too fast. In a moment the two were grappling. The soldier snarled in frustration as a blow landed against his ribs. He was stronger, faster, than his assailant, why was this fight so hard? It was as if his body was refusing to obey the instructions his mind was sending it. The sense of clumsiness returned along with the sudden and acute awareness that this man was older and more experienced than him. He landed a solid kick to his assailant and they both tumbled out of the craft. They rolled a bit apart and the soldier got to his feet first, giving him a good look at the attacker. 

Human. 

The word popped into his head and he tried to say it but only a slurred sound was produced. He started in frustration. Again the clumsiness. What was wrong with him?

“Who sent you?” The human demanded. 

Male. Just past his prime. Old injury in his right arm. 

The soldier analyzed the human who had gotten to his feet and was staring at him with an odd mixture of hope and fear on his hairless face. The question registered and made him pause. Who had sent him? He had his mission. His mission was from the Galra.

“Who sent you?” Demanded the human again. “I know you’re Galra, but who sent you?”

There was desperate hope in his voice. If he knew of the Galra he might be useful in the soldier’s mission. Still he had approached in a threatening manner. The soldier carefully tested his tongue before speaking, but still his voice was slightly slurred. 

“The Galra sent me,” he said. 

“Which Galra?” the human demanded.

His voice had tightened with suspicion, and his hand gripped something at his hip. 

“If you do not know then you are most likely the native who caused the damage to these craft,” the soldier said with a frown, waving in the direction of the hidden debris. 

It was a stretch he knew, but from the increased agitation the human displayed he had guessed right. 

“That makes you an enemy,” the soldier said. 

“Now hold on,” the human said, raising one hand in a placating manner at the same time as his other tightened on the thing at his hip. “I never attacked those things. How bout you just tell me your name to start off with?”

He’s stalling for time. This is a trap. 

Even with that realization the soldier’s mind reached for the answer to the question. There was the now familiar flailing sensation in his mind that only summoned a memory of weightlessness and a metallic taste. The human was growing tenser and the soldier decided against further discussion. He charged, pulling a small utility knife out of his harness. The human dodged and began running away. The soldier grinned in satisfaction as he gained on the human. He was faster. Just before he leapt to grapple with the human his hand came up and tightened around whatever he was holding. An explosion ripped the air behind them sending them both tumbling across the ground. 

“Take that,” the human spat as he regained his feet. 

The soldier stared back at the pile of twisted wreckage that was his craft in shock for a moment. A moment that allowed the human to leap on him. The human had the advantage of surprise. But the soldier was younger, faster, stronger, and still uninjured. Every moment he grew surer of his limbs. It wasn’t long before his knife creased the humans flesh. His utility mask came loose in the scuffle and he ripped it off in irritation. The human cried out in shock and landed a solid kick that separated them. The soldier’s head struck and rock and he was stunned for a moment. The human staggered to his feet looking down at him in horror and confusion a moment before turning and running off into the night clutching his side. 

The soldier rolled slowly to his feet and walked back to examine the damage to his craft. The hull was warped past recognition. The communications capability was utterly destroyed. He could no longer send reports. The mission of infiltration the planetary defense force was now his only goal, his only way to communicate with the ones who had sent him. But first he had to eliminate any threat to his mission. He carefully reaffixed his utility mask and returned to the sight of his fight. He began to follow the trail of bloody footprints. They led him to a well worn road. There were no more footprints but the blood still dotted the path. An hour of running led him to two primitive structures. There was movement and light in one. 

He crept up to the door and reached for the opening mechanism. However his blood coated gloves slipped on the metal sphere. He slipped out of the glove and started at how pale his hands were, how thin his claws were. He shrugged off the strangeness and eased the door open his knife at the ready. There was a pile of items in the middle of the first room, the kind of thing one gathered for flight. From the next room came the sound of boiling liquids and soft grunts of pain. The soldier slipped forward and looked over the scene. The human was sitting in a chair over a large pool of blood. His hands shook as he pressed the blood soaked bandage to cut in his side. There was a firearm beside him and the soldier focused on that. He darted forward and snatched the weapon away before the human could react. The human snarled out and staggered to his feet, too slow. 

“Subject Y0XA14,” the soldier said letting a smug smile cross his face as the metallic tasting memory solidified. 

“What?” the human demanded, his eyes darting to the nearest door. 

“My name,” the soldier replied. “You asked. Subject Y0XA14.”

The human’s eyes darted back to him and a grimace that seemed to hold more understanding than pain filled his expression. 

“Yeah, I get it.” The human muttered. 

“Daddy?” a small voice asked from the door. 

Subject Y0XA14 spun the weapon in the direction of the voice and the human lunged. He grasped a pot from a raised heating surface and cast the boiling water at Subject Y0XA14. The soldier raised his arm to protect his face and the water ran harmlessly off his body suit. But the human was on him and the fight began in earnest. This time however the human was weakened by blood loss and Subject Y0XA14 was sure of his movements. He grasped the human and used his own momentum to toss him across the small room. 

“No! Leave Daddy alone!” the new voice screamed. 

The soldier turned his attention to the small being, child, who flew at him from the side. He easily absorbed the few blows and grasped the child’s shoulder, holding him out at arm’s length. Being so easily restrained seemed to infuriate the child and his eyes glowed yellow. Subject Y0XA14 tossed the child aside in shock and stepped back. Free, the child rushed to his father’s side. 

“You are Galra,” Subject Y0XA14 said softly.

The child showed no sign of hearing him as he clung to his father sobbing. 

“Keith,” the human whispered. 

His eyes were fading. He posed no more threat. However the flames that were now spreading from the heating surface to the rest of the house did. The smoke was rapidly filling the small room. Subject X0YA14 examined the situation critically. If he let the flame consume both the structure and its inhabitants there would be no evidence for the local law enforcement to tie him to the scene.

“Daddy!” the Galra child cried, “I won’t leave you!” 

The human was pressing the hilt of a blade, far too large, into the child’s hands saying something too soft to hear. The soldier made his decision. He strode forward and yanked the coughing child away from his father. 

“Keith!” the human cried out weakly. 

His eyes sought out the soldier’s desperately and Subject Y0XA14 felt compelled to answer the plea. 

“He will be useful to me,” he said curtly. “I will not let harm befall him.”

The look of desperation faded to unease and then the slack unawareness. The child went limp as well and Subject Y0XA14 calculated that the smoke was blocking the oxygen from their unprotected lungs. He left the dying man and carried the child out to the clear air. He left the child a safe distance from the house and went to examine the transport the older human had arrived on. It was a hover bike and easy enough to manipulate. By the time he was comfortable with the controls the sound of sirens was approaching the structures and his next mission was demanding his attention. Whispers of protocol for this situation were seeping into his mind. Establish an identity. He leapt astride the hover bike and glided out of the yard, into the desert. 

He paused a moment as he passed the sleeping form of the Galra child, Keith, who lay clutching the knife to his chest. Subject Y0XA14 hesitated and then accelerated out of the yard. He paused at a safe distance and watched as the humans who responded arrived. They first rushed around the sleeping child and began to tend to him with meticulous care. Subject Y0XA14 smiled in relief. They Galra child was safe. He could check up on him once his own identity was solidly established. He turned the hover bike towards the brightest concentration of lights on the horizon and flew off. 

***

Suitable camouflage was easy to come by. Apparently the inhabitants of this area had such a surplus of clothing that they left giant bags of it behind dedicated locations. A little observation of groups of local humans and it was easy enough to put together a wardrobe that garnered no suspicion. 

*** 

“Good kid, hard worker.”

The voices drifted across the yard to Subject Y0XA14 and he smiled at the compliment. The rake shifted in his grip and he looked forward to establishing another client and reference.

***

“Yeah the Garrison is the way to go if space is your goal kid. You can look all that up at the library.”

***

“You don’t look like a Campbell kid.” A fellow library patron commented with a smile. 

Figuring out that names were regional and associated with certain prototypes was a hard won but valuable lesson and Subject Y0XA14 went through several names as he changed towns before finding one that raised no questions. 

***

Forging proper documents without the aid of the computer on his craft was difficult but his mind still whispered out protocols. Sometimes people asked how a boy a young as him know the things he did. Sometimes he did too. But the Galaxy Garrison was his goal and nothing was going to stop him. The association with the people necessary to procure the documentation was not pleasant. They were not good kids, but he would never have to work with them again. He made sure of that.

***

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he filled out the application for the Galaxy Garrison. He paused and frowned at the question on the screen. 

“Why do you want to join the Garrison?”

He always had. Right? That was his … mission? He had to complete… He shook his head. It was his goal. He had to get into space. 

His first application was rejected but the next library had a program specifically to help people writing applications. 

***

“Your mother and father must be proud of you,” the young woman said with a kindly smile as she bent over his shoulder. “Working so hard all on your own.”

He answered absently, “I don’t have a mother or father,” and immediately regretted it. 

As he feared, that had fastened her attention on him and he felt a surge of irritation at the mistake. She was giving apologies but he gathered up his documents and swept out of the library. That was the one problem with librarians. You could ask them all the questions you wanted, but they asked questions in return. 

“All on my own,” he muttered. Isolated from the rest of…he grimaced as he searched for the faded memory. 

Mission noncritical information wasn’t stored long term. He seemed to be able to remember everything that had happened since he landed on this planet but other things were fading. Even those first days were blurring compared to the days of work and struggle to keep alive and working towards his goal. He stopped and looked up at the sky. For once a feeling of loneliness swept over him. He remembered the child. Did he get lonely too? Would that memory, his promise to take care of Keith fade as everything before it had? With a frown he grabbed the half sized pencil and scribbled down on the paper. 

Find Keith. I will not let harm befall him. 

Even as he stared at them the words felt awkward. That wasn’t how people talked, or wrote.

Find Keith. Take care of him. 

He smiled at the second attempt. That was good. Keith was…he was…different than other children. Special. He frowned as he tried to remember why. 

“Yellow lights,” he said softly, attempting to cement the memory of glowing yellow eyes but afraid it too would fade. 

***

“Welcome to the Galaxy Garrison!” The grinning blond upperclassman called out to the freshmen. “Why don’t we all introduce ourselves and tell everyone why we are here?”

He sat quietly in his class while the rest of the group whispered and fidgeted. The rest of them considered all of this meaningless busy work but he spent a lot of time these days wondering just that. He remembered knowing the why sitting in this seat, wearing this uniform, was the goal that drove him. He remembered knowing once, but now all that was left was the goal. Become a pilot. Get back to space. The why’s had faded with time. Was it even real? Had he ever been in space? How? 

*** 

“I would like to be considered for the recruitment efforts Commander Iverson,” he explained.

Iverson glanced up from his datapad and gave him a friendly smile. 

“Well I won’t deny that sending our best pilot would make the schools happy,” he said. “But there is a process for that so why are you coming to me?”

“I would like permission to go to a specific school, not on the list,” he said. “There is a boy I have a personal interest in there.”

He handed Iverson the information he had carefully gathered and the Commander flipped through it thoughtfully. 

“What makes you think this kid has what it takes?” Iverson asked. 

“I knew his father,” he replied. “And I think he has untapped potential.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Iverson said with a nod, turning back to more pressing issues. 

***

“Good morning class!” the teacher called out brightly. 

The class answered in chorus and he very carefully did not let his eyes linger on the boy who had grown little since he had last seen him. When? When had he last seen Keith? He frowned and let the memory slip away with the scent of smoke. He turned his attention back to the teacher. 

“Today we are very lucky to have a visitor all the way from the Galaxy Garrison flight school!” She was saying. “Can you please introduce yourself?”

“I am,” Subject Y0XA14, “Shirogane Takashi.” He said giving the room a careful professional smile. 

At his voice Keith perked up. As if it had stirred some distant memory. Shirogane Takashi let his smile linger on the boy and received a shy smile in return. The presentation went as it always did. The teacher complimented him on his ability to draw out more reluctant students and Shiro accepted the praise with a humble nod.

“Keith never opens up to anyone that fast,” she marveled brightly. 

*** 

“You look like him,” Keith said shyly, hesitatingly. 

“Like who?” Shiro asked as he tightened the linkages on his hover bike.

Keith dug into his pocket and pulled out a battered photo. It was a cheaply printed sheet. The kind of thing you get off a news website. Shiro took it and held it up beside the mirror on the bike. A dark memory stirred uneasily but he kept his face smooth as he compared his own reflection with the battered print out.

“I do, a little,” he conceded. “Mind if I keep this a bit?”

“Go ahead,” Keith said with a rare smile. “I trust you.”

Shrio reached over and ruffled his dark hair. He did look like Keith’s father. Maybe it was why Keith had trusted him so much at first when he had been sent by the Garrison on that recruiting mission. It was odd. Shiro stared at the photograph and the smell of wood smoke tickled his nose. He shoved it in his pocket and shrugged. He had his mission to think about.

“Come on Keith,” he said swinging the smaller boy up behind him on the hover bike. “Let’s get back to the Garrison.”


End file.
